5 Senses
by idcabtthisish
Summary: Sight, Feel, Smell, Taste, Hear: & the Greatest of These Is Feel. A unique perspective on how Hayffie came be. 5 chapters. Rated M for later chapters and language. NOW COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1: Sight

**Not Suzanna Collins, folks. Obviously. All she cared about was Katniss.**

 **-thamockingjayandpeeta**

 **SIGHT**

The first time he saw her without her mask was on the first night of the Victory Tour. He hadn't been on one of these in nearly twenty-five years, and that had been his own. Nobody knew, understood, or cared about difficult this was. No one but the kids, maybe.

 _Victory Tour_ , he scoffed.

He'd tried to drink himself into oblivion, but apparently he hadn't had enough, because the nightmares came, full throttle, and he woke up with a scream on his lips, his knife slashing at the air until he came to his senses: he was alone.

This is why he didn't like to sleep at night.

He was much more partial to sleeping during the day. He'd made himself into a night owl; everything got done in the dark of night. But tonight was different. Everybody had been mentally exhausted, so everybody had gotten on the train and wanted to relax—as much as one could at a time like this. And after Effie explained how all of this worked, everyone had called it an early night.

So when he got to the living room, he was surprised—and slightly annoyed—to find Effie and Cinna.

He had a snide remark ready for her when he noticed she was crying.

"It's okay, Effie," Cinna was saying quietly. Effie sat on the couch, her body wracking with sobs, Cinna sitting on top of the table, directly in front of her, holding her hands in his.

Haymitch had just realized how intimate this moment was, and that maybe he was intruding, when Cinna spotted him. The two locked eyes and Haymitch noticed Cinna's eyes were filled with their own sadness.

Guess she wasn't upset over a broken nail.

"You couldn't sleep either?" asked Cinna, and at his voice, Effie looked up and her crystal blue eyes locked with Haymitch's.

He openly stared. For the first time he noticed she was without her blonde wig, and pretty, naturally gold hair fell down to her shoulders. Her face was bare, and astonishingly beautiful, and for the first time Haymitch realized how Effie Trinkett modeled before she became an Escort for the Capitol. Her eyes may have been blood shot, but the shape of them was still beautiful without all the excess gunk. Her lips were full and luscious, and a host of other things that Haymitch refused to think about, let alone name.

"I jus' wanted to get a drink," Haymitch finally answered Cinna. "Didn't expect anyone else to be up." He made his way over to the cupboard, trying to convince himself that it was none of his concern, why Effie was crying. What the hell did he care? He certainly hadn't cared any other time over the past fifteen or so years he'd heard her crying.

But those times had been different. First of all, by the time he had first heard her crying, five years after having been an Escort, he had already hated her guts by then. She was everything he hated in her ridiculous suits, wearing her over the top wigs, and distasteful makeup. So when he passed her bedroom door in the penthouse after their Tributes had been killed within fifteen minutes, he thought she deserved the pain.

Second of all, normally he'd been too drunk to give a damn. One time, one time only he had offered her advice: to self-medicate, and the look she gave him, the look that he should _mind his own business_ , was not lost on him, so mind his own business he did.

Except the problem was once you let one person in, and you allowed yourself to feel like a human being again, it becomes easier to start sympathizing.

He had Chaff. That should have been enough.

Haymitch reckoned he fucked up in letting Katniss get under his skin. She was just so much like him it was scary. He imagined if he'd ever had a daughter, she'd have been something like Katniss Everdeen: fearless, stubborn, resourceful.

And if you let Katniss in, you damn sure had to let Peeta Mellark in. He was fucking perfect, with his blond hair and blue eyes, and strong arms and _chivalrous_ attitude. He worshipped the ground Katniss walked on, and it'd be pathetic if he weren't so damn sincere.

And when you let in two kids who end up becoming Victors, you start to notice things, like the way your Escort truly meant well every time she told you to go and get their Tributes Sponsors.

And how, no matter how much of a fuck up he was, he realized that in nineteen years they had always been _their_ Tributes. She always included him, and encouraged him, and took care of him, and got damn it to hell he was _not_ about to do this.

He hadn't even meant to let them in, but he had, and suddenly he realized the effect this caring for people caused him.

So he told himself he didn't give two fucks about why Effie Trinkett was crying.

He couldn't care.

He wouldn't care.

He didn't care.

And after he drowned himself in another bottle, he dreamt that he believed himself.


	2. Chapter 2: Touch

**FEEL/TOUCH**

The first real emotion he ever felt for Effie was fear. It surprised him, really, how quickly it happened. One minute the kids—those blasted damn kids—were reading Effie's cue cards and the next minute three 11 citizens were getting their heads blown the fuck off.

He was already on edge the minute they arrived in 11 and all the Peacekeepers were there. He and Cinna shared a brief and covert look, and he immediately understood: They expected trouble.

Effie, ever the oblivious one, had no clue what was going on, but he had to give the Escort her props. She was annoyed and rightly upset that their Tributes were being treated in such a way. And she did the best she could, keeping Katniss and Peeta on track, up until they saw them off to make their speeches.

When Peeta went off script, Effie stiffened. The three of them stood there, listening only as they had now lost their feed, and when Peeta offered 11 a portion of their Winnings, Haymitch and Cinna shared another glance.

And then an old man was shot and Effie screamed, and it was the most God-awful thing he'd ever heard. Afterwards he told himself it was natural to want to protect her. She was right next to him for fuck's sake. Of _course_ he'd grab her trembling hand and whisk her towards Cinna, telling the designer to keep her safe.

And how soft her hands were against his hard, calloused hands, was ignored. The way her hand had automatically gripped his as he grabbed for hers, as if she trusted him to keep her safe, was shoved away to another part of his mind, maybe to be reopened a night, far, far away from now, when he was low on alcohol and therefore sober enough to ponder it.

Because he would _not_ think of her touch now, at this moment.

And the pounding in his heart, well that had way more to do with Katniss and Peeta, surely. And the _anger_ he felt at Katniss and Peeta was because they had put themselves in danger. It surely wasn't because they had risked _everyone's_ life, particularly a fragile, blonde woman that was completely _innocent_ in all of this.

So he yelled at them, and he allowed Peeta to throw his little tantrum, and then he told them how things _really_ were, ending by saying they were going to act happy, read Effie's cue cards, and get their asses safely back home, after promising Peeta he'd bloody stop keeping secrets from him.

And when Haymitch offered Effie a drink, a little while later, he made sure that his voice was extra rough as he harshly shoved the drink in her face.

And the second emotion he felt from her was admiration, mixed with confusion, because even though her hands shook as she grabbed the glass, the way her lips were set and her eyes darkened showed him something he'd never noticed before: Effie Trinkett had a little bit of fight in her. And for the briefest of moments, all the whining about the Peacekeepers being mean to her seemed like an act.

And just as that thought entered his brain, it was gone.

And it had absolutely nothing to do with her long, slender fingers brushing his as she accepted the drink from him. He told himself it was cold on the train, and that was why goose bumps had appeared on his skin, because the alternative, the thought that Effie caused this reaction, was just too much to think about and face.

Later, much later that night, when Katniss, Peeta, Effie, and the rest of the prep team were finally asleep, Cinna and Haymitch were still up, the volume on the television loud, and talked.

"11 is definitely still uprising," Cinna was saying quietly. "As are the other Districts."

"Jesus I can't believe today," sighed Haymitch, running his hands over his face. "It's days like this I think we should tell Katniss and Peeta."

Cinna smiled sadly. "You know we can't."

Haymitch took a sip of his drink and met Cinna's unfaltering gaze.

"Ask me whatever it is you wanna ask me, Cinna. I can see a question itching to get out of you."

"What's up with you and Effie?"

Haymitch thought all the air had left the room. "I beg your pardon?"

"You seemed awfully protective of her in 11," commented Cinna.

"Well someone had just gotten shot, Cinna," Haymitch said a little more gruffly than he wanted, but suddenly Haymitch was terrified that he was losing it. They were sitting her at the table discussing _Effie Trinkett_ of all people. What was the world coming to?

"And you kept glancing at her all night, making sure she was okay."

"No the fuck I didn't," Haymitch replied. He hadn't. Had he?

"I'm a trained Soldier, Haymitch. I saw you."

Haymitch shot back the rest of his contents in his glass, slamming it down on the table a little more harshly than he had intended. Gripping the glass tightly he stared the fashion designer in the eye. "There is absolutely nothing between Effie and I."

"Well it's nothing at all like I expected. Plutarch prepared me for the worst when I was first assigned this District. Sure you two fight a lot but…" Cinna shrugged and finished off his own drink. "I don't know. You two seem to get each other."

"Well of course we _get_ each other. You can't be around someone for twenty years and not get each other. But that's all it is. We understand each other."

"Okay, Haymitch." Cinna shrugged casually, but it was obvious the fashion designer didn't believe the drunk. Before Haymitch could further prove his point, Cinna said, "It's late. We should get to bed."

Relieved that that was over, Haymitch stood up and made his way to his bedroom.

And he lay there, in the dark, thinking of Effie, and the way she'd gripped his hand earlier, and how naturally the spaces in between their hands fit together, almost as if they were a perfect match and belonged together.

But he didn't believe in shit like that. Somebody had to protect her. He couldn't just let her _die_ , could he?

And why the fuck couldn't he? She was nothing more than a Capitol puppet, with her damned schedules and proper manners and damn blinding dresses.

He scowled into the night. He certainly would _not_ care if Effie Trinkett died.

When he finally fell asleep, he dreamt of Effie getting shot, Snow pulling the trigger, and he told himself it was the alcohol that made him rush to the bathroom and empty his stomach.


	3. Chapter 3: Smell

**SMELL**

The first time he smelled her, truly smelled her, was at the Victory Ball. He'd purposely never gotten close enough to do so, though sometimes he thought he smelled the faint scent of something sweet in the middle of the night while he was asleep. He ignored it, though, even as it hit him one day during his sobriety that it had to be Effie, because every time he smelled it, he woke up with covers on top of him and the mess he had made the night before had been all cleaned up.

He convinced himself it was an Avox until he brushed passed her one day, several years ago, and the familiar scent stopped him dead in his tracks.

He vowed to not acknowledge it. Ever.

But this time he had her up close and personal, so he didn't just smell the peach spray she wore, but he smelled something else, something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

He'd walked up to her at the Victory Ball, not even really meaning to, but seeing her break down in Cinna's arms the first night had awakened something in him. And seeing her stripped naked, no wig, no makeup, no nothing, had proven to him something that he had refused to admit for the past twenty years: Effie Trinkett was a human being.

Maybe she was a Capitol puppet.

But she wasn't a Capitol dummy.

And she certainly wasn't a Capitol bitch.

So he'd walked up to her, in the Capitol of all places, at the Victory Ball, long before he needed to be carried to the train. She'd been dancing with Plutarch, and he briefly wondered if Effie had a thing for Head Gamekeepers.

He shook the thought from his head, telling himself it didn't matter, and when Plutarch twirled her around Haymitch stepped in, smoothly and quickly. One minute she was dancing with Plutarch, the next minute he had her in his arms.

She seemed surprised, but pleasantly so.

They danced in circles for a few moments before she finally spoke.

"I had no idea you were such a good dancer," she told him.

"Yah, well… I've danced at one of these before."

Her eyes widened. "Of course. I forgot."

"Wish I could," he mumbled quite bitterly, and she gave him a sad smile. "How do you dance so well in those heels?"

"Practice makes perfect," said Effie with a smile. "I've been wearing them for so long they truly don't even hurt anymore." He grunted and she arched an eyebrow. "Don't start, Princess. I haven't had nearly enough alcohol yet."

"Plan to get drunk?"

"Nope. Plan to get shit-faced drunk."

"I do wish you wouldn't. There are a lot of important people here tonight—"

"I did not come up here to dance with you to be lectured."

She shut her mouth and stared at him. "Why did you come to dance with me?"

He had absolutely no fucking clue, so he didn't respond.

"You look very handsome tonight, Haymitch," Effie told him honestly.

"And you look better without all that junk on your face." The words were out of his mouth before he could think about them, and the fact that she stopped dancing was proof that he'd really said it aloud, even though he'd been praying he hadn't.

"I'm pretty sure that was a compliment," said Effie softly, and Haymitch felt the discomfort travel from the top of his head down to the soul of his feet. He'd just complimented Effie Trinkett. "I see you're having a hard time accepting that, so I'll bid you goodnight." Her voice had cooled several degrees, her Capitol accent slicing through, more pronounced than ever. "But… before you go, your tie's a little crooked. Let me fix it."

She reached around his neck and started playing with his tie, and it was such an intimate moment that he nearly collapsed. He took in a sharp breath, the scent of peaches overwhelming him. He realized there was something else there, too, something that smelled wonderful.

When she backed away to get a good look at him, the distinct scent disappeared.

And then he realized that it was essence of Effie.

"Effie," he whispered suddenly, and she stared at him quizzically. He opened his mouth, to say what, he had no idea, but before he could speak Plutarch came back up to them.

"I see you're getting in your final moments with your former Escort," said Plutarch, winking, and Haymitch felt everything around him falter.

"Uh… what?"

"Didn't she tell you? She's been promoted to District 7."

Effie threw back her head and laughed. "Isn't it _wonderful_?" She clasped her hands together and then gasped. "Oh! There are Katniss and Peeta. Let me introduce you, Head Gamekeeper."

And then they were gone.

He watched them for several moments, her scent still lingering, before he turned around to find the nearest bar.

He had no clue why he was so upset. He just kept drinking until he told himself it didn't matter. It didn't fucking matter. But she wasn't human. Not at all.

Definitely still a Capitol bitch.

Towards the end of the night Cinna came up to him, sitting down next to him. "I thought I'd still find you here," he said with a sad smile.

Haymitch didn't answer. He'd never had a problem with Cinna. In fact he respected the man a great deal. From the very beginning, really, when he saw the outfits he had designed for Katniss and Peeta in the Games he had found himself respecting Cinna.

To find out Cinna had been strategically placed in District 12 was a pleasant and unexpected surprise.

"I saw you dancing with Effie."

"Don't mention that woman to me," Haymitch said coldly, and Cinna stared at him in surprise.

"What happened now?"

"Did ya know she got promoted to 7?"

Cinna stiffened slightly. "Who told you that?"

"Plutarch," replied Haymitch.

"Did… you talk to Effie?"

"Talk to her? What for? She's thrilled."

Cinna stared at him. "She turned the offer down, Haymitch."

He had just taken another large gulp of his drink, but at Cinna's words his hand jerked and he spilled on his suit.

Haymitch tried to focus on the _real_ Cinna—there was about three of him at the moment—and when he finally did he said, " _What_?"

"Why do you think she was crying at the beginning of the Tour? They initially denied her request to stay in 12."

Haymitch sucked in a harsh breath.

"The only reason she was allowed to stay is because 7's Mentor didn't want to leave." Cinna paused for several moments, adjusting himself so that he was closer to Haymitch, and going through the trouble of ordering himself a drink. "I think Snow wants to split us up." Cinna had barely moved his lips, and he had made sure that he had put his glass in front of his lips, but Haymitch heard him loud and clear.

"By moving _Effie_? What the fuck for?" Haymitch's whispers were drowned out by the music.

Cinna turned and gave him a look. "Do you honestly think Effie isn't on our side?"

Haymitch opened his mouth and then shut it. "But surely she doesn't _know_."

"She suspects, I think, and we haven't been arrested. We've never even been questioned."

Haymitch stared at his drink before chugging the rest of it, appreciating the burn as it went down his throat.

He couldn't deal with this right now.

Wouldn't deal with this.

"I'm leaving," he said, slamming the glass down on the bar.

He'd barely taken a step when he found himself face down on the floor.

His last sobering thought was that Effie was going to kill him.

He's not drunk enough to not realize that he's being helped on the train, nor is he drunk enough to not smell the distinct smell of peaches a few moments after he's lied down.

She takes off his shoes, and he feels something cover him up to his chest.

And then the briefest of contact: a gentle caress on his forehead as she brushes aside his hair.

With a small sigh she leaves.

He dreamt of champagne that tastes like peaches.


	4. Chapter 4: Taste

**TASTE**

The first time he tasted Effie Trinkett was the night of the Reaping of the 75th Hunger Game.

"You slipped up, Princess," he told her, standing in the doorframe of her room on the train, a bottle in his hand. He suspected she knew she had fucked up. She sat rigid on the bed, staring straight ahead, her hands clenched so tightly together that her knuckles were white, half crescent moons taking shape on her hands.

She wore a silk green robe and she still had on those damned heels.

She looked fucking beautiful, even with the layers on her face and the stupid wig atop her head.

He hated her for it.

"He'll… he'll kill them, won't he?" she whispered softly, and Haymitch felt his back immediately go up. She slowly turned to him, and he had to give it to her, because her eyes were bone dry. "He'll kill my family, like he did yours."

He was dying.

No. Dead.

He was already dead. Because he couldn't breathe. He couldn't fucking breathe. He was hollow inside, completely and utterly hollow, for how long, he didn't know. What he did know was there was this whooshing sound in his ear, and then silence, deathly silence.

And then he realized he was alive when the anger pierced him down to his soul.

"Who the _fuck_ told you about that?" he finally asked her, his voice low, deep, deadly.

"I—I sort of guessed." She kept his gaze for several moments, her gaze never wavering, even with his heat, but eventually she was the first to look away. Still, she continued. "You start to understand things a little bit better, after a while. Cinna confirmed my suspicions. He never actually confirmed it. But he certainly never denied it, either."

He thought he was going to throw up.

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" asked Effie.

"Because people like you killed them," Haymitch said darkly, and Effie jerked.

 _Good. Fucking serves you right_.

Effie slowly stood up. "I'm so sorry, Haymitch."

"I don't fucking want your pity."

She sadly shook her head, turning away from him. She walked over to the other side of her room and turned on the radio. Then she faced him again. "It's okay. I deserve it. You should hate me. I was always everything you said I was. A Capitol bitch, right? I thought—" and now the tears came—"I thought that this was what I wanted: to serve my beloved Capitol. And then… so many dreams. And so many faces. I've killed so many people, Haymitch. What's my family? I mean how many countless families have I destroyed over the years? I'm no different from Snow, really."

Haymitch stared at her, stared at this woman he'd worked with for the past twenty years, but still didn't really know.

He recognized something in her. Something he never had before.

She was broken.

Just like him.

When had that happened? How had he missed it?

"Effie," he said thickly, though he wasn't sure what he was about to say.

"I don't pity you, Haymitch. Empathy and pity are not the same thing. I hurt too. I bleed too." And now her voice cracked. "I hate myself. I hate everything about myself. You think you're the only one who thinks they deserve solitary confinement? Has it never once crossed your mind why I never married?" She scoffed and started pacing as he stood there, frozen, entranced. "Of course it hasn't. But I don't go out. I don't date. The men…" she touched her neck, something he noticed she did when she was nervous—and when he started knowing that, he didn't know. "The men can't handle my screams at night."

He started, and she glared at him. "What? Do you think you're the only one who gets nightmares?" She started pacing again, her voice growing colder. "You think I don't want to drown myself in the bottom of a bottle? But I can't. Because unlike you I think I deserve to feel the pain." She stopped again and faced him. "Do you think I like looking like this? All of it is just…" She balled up her fists and turned away from him, but he could still see her in her vanity mirror.

"I hate it," she said, and she was seething.

And then she took her fist and punched through the mirror.

Glass shattered, loudly.

He didn't even remember moving. One minute he was frozen the next minute he was next to her, pulling her away from the mirror, and some fucking way he ended up embracing her, holding her close as her body wracked with sobs.

"I hate myself," she said, gulping for air.

He let her cry, surprisingly, and not once did he consider her weak. He just felt sadness. Sadness for the years of misjudgment, and all the lost time.

She allowed him to help her take off her wig and unpin her real hair.For hair that was hidden most of the day inside a wig it sure had a way of falling back into place perfectly. Her soft curls landed quietly at the nape of her neck.

She flinched when he took the towel to her face, but he was surprisingly gentle as he stripped her bare. When he finished he stepped back to look at her. She looked much like she did the first night of the Victory Tour: astonishing.

The air was thick. How intimate this moment was between them was not lost on either of them.

They kept eye contact, but stayed totally and utterly still, as millions of different thoughts swirled through their head.

And then… "Haymitch."

The softest whisper, and everything became undone.

She tasted like hope, and all things positive, and he felt something shift inside. Something awakened, something he thought was long gone, but it was there, and had been all this time, just dormant, like a volcano.

He finally pushed her away, breathing heavily. "Effie."

"Don't hold back, okay?" she said, her voice husky, as her fingers started unbuttoning his shirt, and the question of if she were sure, if she was positive, was answered, and he realized, the minute her teeth scraped his ear, that he wouldn't be able to hold back, even if he tried.

He picked her up and pushed her against the wall, growling when she bit his neck. Her nails dug into his back, deeply, and he knew there'd be scratches there in the morning.

If he lived til morning.

She was killing him, this woman was, with her low, guttural moans and soft gasps.

And the way she tasted… Jesus Haymitch didn't think he'd ever get enough of her.

Peaches lingered on his lips as he tasted her skin, succulent and ripe, and soft, and moist, and he bit into her, hard, because he listened to her when she said not to hold back.

Her body acted on its own accord, her back arching off of the wall, even as he had her pinned in place.

He was in complete control, at least on the surface. Inside he was desperate to get to her, to be inside of her.

She seemed to feel the same way as she started fiddling with his buckle.

Something had changed between them—past tense. It wasn't present tense, nor was it future tense. It had already happened. Maybe it was the first night of the Victory Tour, or dancing together at the Victory Ball…. Or maybe it was winning the 74th Hunger Games.

Who knew?

And who the hell cared, in this moment, when he was hiking up her robe, his hands going in unthinkable places, Effie Trinkett, hot and heavy, moaning, because of him and for him….

He nearly lost it when she cursed.

She demanded that he hurry, that she couldn't last much longer, so he stared at her when he entered one rough finger inside of her. She was tight, and the contact was unexpected, so her body buckled, but he held her up with one arm, his strength surprising even him as he was sure he was about to pass out.

He nearly did when she clutched around him.

That was enough teasing. He watched as her eyes widened as he entered her, then fluttered close as the pleasure took over. He moaned, burying his face in her neck, staying utterly still for several moments, until he got his bearings.

When Effie started moving, impatient, he took his cue, digging his hands into her hips, and slammed into her.

It was rough, and merciless, but not without passion, and desire, ripping through their bodies. He met her demands, and she met his, clutching and clawing at his back to bring him as close to her as she could. She wrapped her legs tighter around his waist as her second orgasm hit her, and he swallowed her scream with a kiss.

When he lifted her hands above her head, pinning them against the wall, she let out a startled cry. She cried out his name and he went faster, deeper, harder, grunting out 'Effie,' over and over again, nearly prayer-like.

He was close. So close. And so was she.

She erupted, a strangled version of his name falling out of her lips, and he let her hand go and grabbed her hips as he exploded. He cursed when she pulled his hair, shaking as the orgasm subsided.

Breathing hard they fell on top of the bed, sprawled out, unable to speak.

He licked his lips after awhile, the taste of sweet peaches still on his tongue, and he thought he'd be content, completely and utterly okay with life.

Except something was bothering him. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. He'd just fucked the shit out of Effie Trinett, but he wasn't worried.

Something was off. Something wasn't right, yet he wasn't worried. And he should have been worried. He had just endangered her life by sleeping with her.

And then it hit him, full in the gut.

"Effie," Haymitch whispered, his heart pounding. "How'd you know to turn on the radio before we started talking?"

She took a long time to respond, so he sat up so that he could look at her.

Finally she said, in a quiet voice, "Cinna taught me."

He blinked at her until it sunk in.

"Caught on, have you? I'm not as stupid as you think. I know what those berries started, Haymitch. I know about uprisings and Rebellions, and Revolutions. I don't know much. I don't think Cinna totally trusts me. But I'm helping him design the Mockingjay suit."

Haymitch was silent for a few moments, and then— "Are you fucking crazy? This is not a game, Effie! Do you have any idea what the fuck you're getting yourself into?"

"Yes I very well do know, thank you very much." She turned and started to get out of bed, straightening her robe.

"Why in the hell would you do this?"

She pounded her hand on the night table. "Because I was forced to pick your name in the got damn Reaping today!" He stared at her, dumbfounded. "How _dare_ he? As much as our Tributes lost in order to become Victors? And you worked _so_ hard. Only to what? Go back into the Arena? And I, the one Escort who _refused_ to be promoted, had to call the very names of the people I had grown to care about? Well fuck _that_! You're damn right I did this. It is completely and utterly _personal_.

"And you want to know what hurts the most? It's the fact that you're surprised. Twenty years. Twenty bloody years we've known each other. And you don't know a damn thing about me. Cinna kept saying 'Our leader this, our leader that,' and finally I just snapped out, 'Say Haymitch!' because I knew it was you. Who else could it be? Who else is smart enough, and strong enough, and stubborn enough?" She took a deep breath. "I could tell you I'm disappointed, but when have you _ever_ cared? You could have came to me and told me, but you didn't."

Haymitch stayed quiet for a long time. She sighed and sat back down on the bed, her back towards him.

"I'm sorry, Effie," he finally said. "For the past twenty years, I'm sorry. I didn't even really notice you for the past twenty years. Not until Katniss and Peeta came along. You were but a child when you first got here—"

"I was but a few years younger than you, Haymitch."

"By age, yes. Mentally we were light years away."

She couldn't argue with that, so she kept quiet.

Finally she turned to him. "I care a great deal for you, Haymitch. I'm not quite sure why. You were never very nice to me. But I do." Haymitch opened his mouth, and then shut it when he realized he had no clue what to say. "You don't have to say anything back. I didn't really expect you to. I just wanted you to know." She took a deep breath. "Will you stay with me tonight?"

He thought of a million reasons why he shouldn't: the kids could walk in on them, he didn't want to see the smug look on Cinna's fucking face, he'd much rather drink himself to death, he might have a nightmare….

He might hurt her.

But for the first time in a long time Haymitch was truly honest with himself.

He didn't want to sleep alone.

"Only if you promise not to snore."

Effie's mouth dropped open and Haymitch cackled out a laugh.

"A lady never snores," Effie told him.

"I guess we'll see about that."

 **XxXxXx**

The last time he tasted Effie Trinkett was the night before Katniss blew out the force field.

It had become somewhat of a routine with them. As the time passed, he realized he didn't mind spending time with the Escort.

She was… different, and making him feel things he hadn't felt in nearly twenty-five years, and it was stupid, and foolish, to start feeling this way when he knew damn well it wouldn't—couldn't—last.

He started holding her a little bit tighter, memorizing the way she looked, her touch, her scent, her taste. No one could know—no one did know, except Cinna, because that'd be dangerous—so during the day they were back to their bitching and arguing and cursing.

But at night? At night she was his, and he was hers, and he could dream of forever and happily ever after.

He slid off of her, the night before he was forced to leave, his breath still ragged, and she slithered next to him. He was dosing off, the soft circles she was making on his chest like a lullaby, when she said,

"You're leaving soon."

He stiffened, giving himself away before he could lie.

"It's okay. I've suspected for quite some time now." Her voice was low, even with the music playing. She didn't ask if he would have told her, or when he planned to do so. She just held him a little tighter. "There's a bag in the living room, located inside the fireplace. It's ready for you, whenever you have to go."

Got damn this woman and her brilliance and her sacrifice and her fucking acting. If she'd given him an _inkling_ that she wasn't the Capitol puppet he'd always assumed she was, they could have had _years_.

But that would have just made it that much harder to leave.

"I can't take you with me, Effie, though God knows I want to."

"There's no place in 13 for someone like me."

"Someone like who? A rebel? A prominent member of this fucking Revolution?"

"No one knows it, though. I'm to be in the background. I'm okay with that." She paused for a moment. "You've stopped telling me as much. You don't sleep as well through the night. I know it's all coming to an end soon."

Haymitch took a deep breath. "Effie—"

"Don't. Don't say anything that you feel you have to say because we might not ever see each other again. You stay alive, like you tell our Tributes, and you come find me after this is all over. If you feel the same way, then you tell me."

She traced his face with her fingers, and he wondered if she was trying to remember him, the same way he was trying to remember her.

When he drifted off to sleep, it'd be the last time he dreamt of forever and happily ever after.


	5. Chapter 5: Hear

****** So this is the final chapter of this series. I hope you enjoyed it! The "closure" piece for this is "Home" (though it can definitely be read as a stand-alone).**

 **Please feel free to check out my other Hayffie fics, particularly The First Goodbye. IDK why it's one of my faves.**

 **Let me know what you thought of this one!**

 **-thamockingjayandpeeta**

 **HEAR**

The first thing he hears when he kicks the door in is a whimper.

It was so soft, so quiet, so utterly _heartbreaking_ that he stopped in his tracks for several moments before he could find the courage to proceed.

He swallowed back his anger, and bit back his pity. Right now he had a mission.

He didn't have to worry about rushing so he wouldn't get caught. He'd killed every bastard that stood in his way, without a second thought.

But he knew he had to hurry and get her medical attention.

He approached the small, frail woman, the woman he hardly recognized, reminding himself to be gentle.

He swallowed the bile in his throat at the bruises on her skin. He glanced over her tiny frame, noting all the bruises and lacerations.

She'd been tortured.

At this moment, Kantiss would have to fight him to kill Snow. Haymitch would bloody well rather do it himself.

And he'd like to slice Coin's throat, too, for good fucking measure, for allowing this to happen.

He crouched down, wanting to touch her, but terrified at the same time.

She was so still she looked dead. Had he imagined her earlier whimper?

He thought about what'd happen to him if she were dead. How'd he lose any bit of will he had left to live. He'd end it all, probably right here in this cell, if he wasn't itching to see Snow's death so badly. After that, though? He made no promises.

At that moment a medical team came in.

"Fucking took you long enough," Haymitch said coldly.

"There was a guy out there choking to death on his own blood," one of them responded, and Haymitch turned to him.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

Instead of answering the medic crouched down next to him. Haymitch got a good look at his face.

If Effie didn't survive, he'd hunt this bastard down and kill him with his bare hands.

Haymitch watched as the medic felt for a pulse. At his touch Haymitch heard a gasp and watched as her body shriveled, forming a ball closer to the wall of the cell.

His heart leapt.

She was alive.

 **XxXxXx**

He was by her beside every single day. She was dehydrated and malnourished. She had a broken jaw and two broken ribs.

But she was alive.

When she was finally well enough to travel back to 13 with him, they left the Capitol.

He spared the medic's life, but left him with a broken nose.

Not a lot of people knew Effie was in 13. Haymitch understood that her presence would not be welcomed here. Still, Plutarch did all he could as well. On the days Haymitch was needed for the Rebellion, Plutarch kept watch, and vice versa.

By the time they're all set to go back to the Capitol, to perform the final Game, Effie is much better.

They walk on eggshells around each other. So much has changed, yet nothing has.

He still drinks like a fish.

She doesn't know it's because he can't live with the guilt anymore.

Or if she does know, she doesn't care.

When it's decided that Katniss must be prepped, Haymitch makes his way to Effie's room, hating himself for what he was about to ask her.

"I'm not that person anymore, Haymitch."

"None of us are the people we started out as, Princess," he said gently.

Effie looked away from him. "It's… part of my punishment, isn't it? Having to parade around in a damn costume, looking like a clown? I didn't tell them anything. I never even came close. I was prepared to die for this Rebellion. Most of the time I wish I were dead. Yet I still get to be punished?"

Haymitch would not lie to her. "Yes." She sucked in a hard breath. "But it's more than that, Effie. Katniss needs you. Our Mockingjay needs you."

Effie stood. She wouldn't look at him. "Fine. I'll help her get ready for the execution." Then she turned to him. "For Katniss."

Haymitch kept his face completely neutral. "That's the only person I'd ask you to do it for."

He walked out then, ignoring the twist in his gut, knowing he'd lost her forever.

When Katniss find him, hours later, talking about needing to talk, he'd already destroyed every piece of furniture in the room. All that was left untouched was the chair he sat on—even the bottle he was drinking from was broken.

And when he took his pain and frustrations out on Katniss, and he tried to chase after her, he found himself on the floor, also broken.

 **XxXxXx**

"She never sold us out," Haymitch said, pacing the room angrily. "Why is she still being punished? It's fucking ridiculous. She's one of us, Plutarch, and you know it."

"I do know it. Haymitch will you calm down for a second?"

"Fuck _that_ , Plutarch. I'm done talking. I want—"

"Katniss already demanded that Effie be given immunity, Haymitch."

Haymitch stopped pacing and stared at Plutarch. He was shocked. Stunned, really.

And relieved

God bless that woman, as broken and bruised as she was.

"Effie's already preparing to go back to the Capitol." He felt his heart drop to his stomach. "And you have to prepare to take care of Katniss… back in 12, where she's been sentenced."

Haymitch's back went up. "Was I on trial too?" he said coolly.

"Not by me. But there are some people who… don't understand your loyalties to a Capitol Escort." Haymitch gritted his teeth, prepared to explode, but Plutarch cut him off. "It's not forever, Haymitch. Just let things calm down. You know you're one of Paylor's favorites. She'll call you in a few months. You know she will. For now… help Katniss. She needs you. You know she does. She can't go back there alone."

Haymitch took a calming breath. "How long before Peeta comes back?"

"Dr. Aurelius is doing the best he can, but it'll some time. Several months at least."

"She's gonna be lost without the boy. We've seen how she is."

"Well, if she ever changes her mind about being on that singing show, she can she him anytime she wants."

Haymitch scowled as he walked away.

 **XxXxXx**

"You fought to keep me alive," Effie whispered. "I won't ever forget that."

"Effie," Haymitch sighed.

"I no longer have to tell you to take care of our Victors. You do so naturally, now. I don't even think you realize how much you've grown to care for them."

" _Them_?"

"Us, then." She smiled sadly. "But they need you, Haymitch."

"And you, Effie?"

Effie stared at him for a long moment, sadness the only expression in those astonishing blue eyes. "I need time to learn who I am again." Haymitch just stared at her, refusing to speak. "I don't know how long it'll take me. But when I figure it out… I'll know where to find you."

She placed a gentle a kiss on his cheek, gave him a sad smile, picked up her suitcase, and headed back to her home in the Capitol.

He wanted to follow her, force her to come back to 12 with him, and she might have. But she'd have eventually resented him for it. She had to find her own way.

He could only hope and pray that one day, she'd find her way back to him.

Until then, he would remember her: how beautiful she looked without makeup; how soft and gentle her touch was; how she always smelled like peaches, and Effie; how she tasted just like she smelled.

And sure, her late night whimpers would haunt him for the rest of his life. But he'd also remember the way she laughed, or the way she said his name when they made love.

He may never see her again. But he'd feel for her for the rest of his life.


End file.
